Of Rare Books and the End of the World Again
by Rimedio
Summary: Giles is in England seeking information about Glory and searching for a rare book of prophecy.  He is told Aziraphale's bookshop has it.  This is correct, but Aziraphale does not want to part with the book...


It is 11:00 on a rainy Thursday morning and Aziraphale is in his customary location: perched on a stool by the mostly decorative till that sits on the old fashioned countertop in the back of his rare books shop which, to be frank, is mostly decorative as well since his main goal is to fail to sell even a single book. The shop bell tinkles and, looking up from conscientiously filling in the Daily Telegraph crossword puzzle, he is treated to the quite unexpected sight of an actual customer in his actual shop, with an unfortunately determined expression on his face. Aziraphale's heart sinks. He'd planned on a quiet morning at the shop drinking tea, doing the crossword, drinking tea, dusting his collection of Infamous Bibles, and possibly pausing in the afternoon to drink a slow cup of tea with Crowley if he happened by when he'd intimated that he might, possibly with the rare book of unspecified origin that he'd been hinting about for weeks in a way which made Aziraphale suspect the demon was gearing up to bribe him into doing something untoward. Again. He'd actually been somewhat hoping the demon would fail to show, although now he'd prefer for Crowley to be early. No one could expel potential customers faster than Crowley, probably because, being a demon, he suffered from no mixed feelings as a result of wanting to please the customer, but not wanting to part with any actual books; for Crowley, depriving the customer of a volume they would probably never get this close to owning again was part of the fun.

Now, the angel surveys the middle aged man, dressed in tweeds and clutching a small piece of parchment, who is making his way through the maze of shelves towards the cash desk. This mightn't be so bad. It looks as if the man has a particular book in mind, all Aziraphale will have to do is tell him he doesn't have it, although he would prefer if Crowley were around to do any actual lying that may be necessary. Lying is not an angelic skill and quite aside from the associated minor emotional turmoil and guilt, Aziraphale is phenomenally bad at it.[*]

"Excuse me," the man says in a cultured accent almost offensively reminisce of Aziraphale's own, "I am looking for _The Boke of Palimpsest_, compiled and edited by Benjamin Allworthy, I was told that you were in possession of a copy."

"Who are you? What do you want with that book?" is out of the angel's mouth before he can stop himself. He curses mentally, he was startled and his mouth got away from him. He didn't think anyone other than Crowley even knew that book existed, let alone that Aziraphale had the sole remaining copy. A sudden suspicion dawns, "Who told you I have it?" he asks.

"My name is Rupert Giles, lately of the watcher's council based here in London. I want Allworthy's _Boke_ because of a compelling description contained in the afterward of a nameless God thrown from the heavens and imprisoned in human form here, on earth. As to who told me where to find a copy, I can't think why it matters, so I shall just say I saw a man about a _boke_ and he told me to come see you."

"But I always want to know where my customers hear about me," Aziraphale prevaricates, not feeling the need to add that he wishes to know this so he can get Crowley to be unforgivably rude to whomever has been speaking highly of his little shop. Unless it was Crowley himself who sent this man to him, in which case Aziraphale will most certainly _not_ be doing whatever it is the demon was planning on asking him to do this afternoon.

"An old friend of mine who apparently knows an old friend of yours," Giles supplies shortly, "apparently they share a common interest in mayhem and havoc."

Ah, Crowley then, indirectly. The angel is surprised although he supposes he shouldn't be, despite the Agreement the demon sometimes can't help being, well, demonic. Although, usually he doesn't go so far as to help someone else have a better day just to piss off Aziraphale. Perhaps he was banking on Aziraphale being able to put off the man – Mr Giles – and thus in the end causing everyone to have a crappy day. The angel grinds his teeth, thinking that if that last idea is what Crowley was intending, it is likely to go just as he planned, in which case the demon will probably be dropping by this afternoon simply to gloat.

"Look, I really need this book and I don't want to have to threaten you. Particularly as my – err – friend, intimated that doing so would be a good idea which means that it manifestly probably isn't," Rupert Giles continues in a rush. Adding "it's very, very urgent!" somewhat desperately.

"How could the acquisition of a book possibly be that important?" the angel responds crossly, "just because you've got it into your head that you simply must have some arcane work of dubious occult significance does not mean that the world will end if you don't get it!"

"My dear man," Giles replies[†], voice calm although his face is bright red, "that is _precisely_ the most probably outcome if I cannot get my hands on that book. Come now, I know you have a copy, I simply wish to purchase it. I assure you, I have sufficient funds." He pauses, then asks "this is a book shop isn't it?"

"Yes of course it's a book shop," the angel retorts, turning slightly pink, "err, let me just go see if I've got, what was it? Allworthy's _Boke_…" he shuffles off disappearing into the labyrinthine stacks.

Giles hums quietly to himself, looking wonderingly, and with a certain amount of longing, at the shelves upon shelves of ancient dusty tomes that surround him. He thinks that he has won[‡] and so allows his mind to wander briefly, snapping back to attention when he hears footsteps signalling Aziraphale's return.

"Well here it is," the angel announces peevishly, "you can look at it, but I'm not selling it to you, I don't want the council to get their hands on it." Aziraphale has no idea what this watchers council is, but if the way Giles is looking at his books is any indication, they keep a fairly extensive library of ancient and rare scrolls, tracts, and compendiums themselves and would therefore be unlikely to wish to be parted from this particular item once it is in their possession, and more importantly, unlike an individual would probably not be dying and leaving all their books to be sold in an estate sale. Which is too bad, Aziraphale reflects, he would love to attend that estate sale. He wonders if this council is in possession of any of the rare books he has yet to lay his hands on. Perhaps a trade could be arranged? Only as a last resort Aziraphale decides; he is quite sure the small leather book lying by the ornamental till is completely unique in this world and there is thus little that could tempt him in the way of a trade. At this point in his ruminations the angel realizes that Mr Giles has been speaking and returns his attention to the man in front of him.

"…aren't really on the best of terms. It's because Buffy told them off you see – and they really _hate_ Ethan. The point being that I am in total agreement with you on the subject of the Council getting the _boke_."

Aziraphale digests this information. "So what you are saying," he says slowly, "is that you are here without the knowledge, or consent, of this Council you purport to represent."

Giles flushes. "In a manner of speaking," he says uncomfortably, "I did say I was _lately_ of the watcher's council, not currently," he adds, then rushing on, "and anyway, you are missing the more important point here."

"Which is?" the angel prompts.

"That the world may very well _end_ if you don't sell me that book!" Giles shouts, finally losing his temper.

Of course the angel would do anything to keep the world from ending. He'd have to. Unless its ending was part of the ineffable plan, but if that was the case he's pretty sure he'd know. Unfortunately for Giles however, Aziraphale's powers of self-deception – particularly with regards to his bookshop – are unmatched and thus instead of acquiescing he shouts right back.

"Why do you keep blibbering on about the end of the world! If the world was ending don't you think I'd know!" he demands, quite forgetting that in his guise as an innocuous, if eccentric, antique books dealer and shop owner, no, he would not in fact know about it if the world was ending. "You're just trying to play on my angelic nature!" he continues, "Well it won't work! I do good deeds because it's what I _do_, not because _you_ tell me to, _or_ Crowley, _or_ anyone else, with the exception of them up there, _and_ I don't believe you. If the world's _really_ ending what are you doing in my bookshop and _how_ do you think one of my _books_ is going to help, no _matter_ how rare, and—"

"The world isn't ending _yet_ you stupid man![§]" Giles exclaims, "That's what I am trying to prevent! And if you won't sell it to me I'll go back to my hotel and call my colleague Ms Rosenberg, who is a _very_ powerful witch by the way, and get her to teleport it out of here right under your nose!"

Aziraphale is drawing himself up with indignation at this threat[**] when the shop bell chimes again. Feeling simultaneously relieved and put upon, the angel turns to the door. Seeing Crowley sauntering calmly towards the cash desk immediately causes relieved to give way to aggrieved and Aziraphale shoots the demon a truly spectacular glare as he wends his way over.

"Speak up, I don't think the watcher's friends in California can hear you." Crowley drawls, "Come on angel, hasn't your instinct for good kicked in yet? He needs the book. He wants to keep a hell God from dragging the whole world with it when it returns to its hell-dimension. Surely that's worth more than an old book?"

There is ringing silence following this pronouncement. Aziraphale is, in truth, feeling rather foolish, and also slightly queasy. He worries absently about the sin of covetousness and whether his current behaviour qualifies. Dismissing this thought on the grounds that, as an angel, he is incapable of sin, he proceeds to his next concern: Crowley's motives.

"Dragging the whole world into Hell?" he queries the demon, "shouldn't you be all for that?" His voice sounds petulant.

"Not _Hell_," Crawley responds lazily, "hell, with a small 'h', a hell-dimension, there are uncounted numbers you know. It's a sort of freelance hell-god from a particularly nasty one. So no, I am definitely _not_ 'all for that.' When the world goes to Hell it's damn well going to the official one if I have anything to do with it."

Aziraphale realizes that the time has finally come to admit defeat; the only thing to do is to try to keep his dignity and salvage the situation as best he can. He bestows a frosty glare on both Giles and the demon. "Well why didn't you say so in the first place?" he snaps and then ploughs on, heedless of Giles incensed spluttering, "of course I will sell you the _boke_—"

In a truly spectacular change of demeanour, the angel beams benevolently at the two beings in front of him, neither of whom relax in the slightest as the feeling of an impending 'but' is hanging heavy in the air.

"—but," Aziraphale says "since you really only want it for a specific one time purpose, perhaps you could be convinced to enter some form of leasing arrangement…" he trails off looking questioningly at Giles.

"Yes, yes, fine, whatever you want!" Giles cries, "It's a book, not your first born I'm asking for!" Calming himself he adds, "We think it will be over one way or other before the year is out. I _promise_, if the world doesn't end, I'll mail you the _boke_ right away."

"I'll write up a contract," Crowley offers, earning himself another angelic glare: Crowley has a well-known love of spending hours drawing up long complicated contracts that begin with a clause as full of loopholes as hundred year old lace and spend the next fifty pages deviously plugging each one, leaving the finished product absolutely binding and completely incomprehensible.

However, much to Aziraphale's surprise, it takes the demon only ten minutes to draft a short, mercifully intelligible document and copy it out twice. He hands a copy each to Giles and Aziraphale. They both scan it warily.

"I want a clause in here that if the _boke_ has not been returned to me at the time of Mr Giles' death, it will be left to me in his will," Aziraphale tells Crowley. The demon glances at Giles who clearly finds this comment to be in bad taste, but nonetheless shrugs his assent, and the demon writes in a careful addition.

"There's nothing about price in here," Giles comments, "and you still haven't told me what you are asking." He braces himself for an unpleasant sum.

The angel however, looks taken aback and says what appears to be the first sum of money that pops into his head,[††] "thirty-two pounds fifty."

"Agreed," Giles responds.

Angel and watcher sign both copies and each take one. Giles fishes a handful of notes from his pocket and hands the angel £35, necessitating the opening of the till with a loud creak of underused springs and gears. Miraculously, once the till has been convinced to disgorge the cash drawer, the change required is indeed inside and Aziraphale hands Giles an ancient £2 coin and heavily tarnished 50p. Giles makes no comment and pockets the money along with his copy of the contract. He then reaches for the _boke_. Aziraphale starts forward as if he is going to snatch the bookfrom Giles' hand, but checks himself, and itdisappears into a jacket pocket.

"Thank you very much, I'll see you in a couple of months, or you'll get this in the post, thanks a lot, so nice doing business with you." At the conclusion of this hurried speech Giles turns on his heal and practically runs from the shop. The bell tinkles cheerfully behind his retreating back and Crowley raises an eyebrow at the angel.

"Causing a customer to run from your shop; not very angelic of you." He smirks.

"He got what he came for didn't he?" the angel replies sulkily.

"Better treatment than your customers usually get, it's true," Crowley muses, earning himself another industrial strength glare. "How about a cup of tea angel?"

"Only if you tell me why you sent him to me," the angel responds, "because I know it was your doing." Crowly opens his mouth to speak but Aziraphale cuts him off, "and don't try to claim it was through a sense of duty or altruism, because I won't believe you."

"If I am going to go to hell, it'ss going to be _my_ hell!" the demon hisses with surprising vehemence. "Besides, I knew you had the only copy of the _boke_, and I thought sending Mr Giles to you would make for an interesting afternoon," he adds in a lighter tone of voice.

Aziraphale restrains himself from rolling his eyes as he turns towards the singing kettle and reaches for his tin of Darjeeling.

_Finis_

* * *

><p>[*] A fact which caused him to part with a signed first edition of "Pilgrim's Progress" in 1745 and a rare collection of obscure John Donne essays in 1892. He'd gotten both items back by the simple expedient of waiting until the purchaser died and going the accompanying estate sale, but it was the principle of the thing.<p>

[†] Somewhat inaccurately, angels being for the most part sexless and genderless.

[‡] Incorrectly. Aziraphale was initially thrown by his talk of the end of the world, but has now rallied and is still determined to remain in possession of the book in question.

[§] Again somewhat inaccurately, see above.

[**] Despite that fact that Giles could never carry it out: the only form of teleportation possible into or out of Aziraphale's bookshop involves a heavenly dimension that a mere human witch, no matter how powerful, most certainly does not have access to.

[††] In this Giles is absolutely correct: money does not concern Aziraphale, and he never does anything as pedestrian as actually pricing his items. In his own mind his books fall into one of only two categories anyway, expendable or priceless.


End file.
